


Happy-ly Never After

by Pokeydotes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: Apparently Happy and May are dating now. Peter is totally cool with this. Seriously.Or he would be if everyone would stop reminding him about it.





	Happy-ly Never After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoctorMead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorMead/gifts).

> So DoctorMead came to me with this little prompt: If you don't mind, I have another prompt for you. Maybe this won't grow to be the behemoth the last one was. :)
> 
> I don't know if you've seen Far From Home yet, but this was in the trailer, so I don't think it counts as a spoiler. There's this subplot about May and Happy seeming to get together. What if this happened in this universe? Poor Peter's completely weirded out and the rest of the Avengers are so, so unhelpful about his weirded out-ness.
> 
> I, of course, decided to (sort of) oblige. Tony had to be there, it's in the rules. After all, one of the things I said to my sister after leaving FFH was "I never thought one of the things I'd be most upset about Tony being gone was missing out on his reaction to May and Happy."
> 
> This is outside of my Little Things universe, just because...

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Happy was lying on the floor, the upper half of his body stuffed into the cabinet under the Parker’s kitchen sink.

Peter was beside him, sitting Indian style, surrounded by bottles of dish soap and floor cleaner and something May had mixed up in a spray bottle that was supposed to get stains out of clothes.

Happy strained his neck and frowned. “Yes, I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t mean any offense,” Peter said, stretching his leg and nudging the open toolbox sitting next to Happy’s hip with his foot. “It’s just—you don’t look like a guy who does a lot of plumbing work.”

“You don’t look like you can lift a collapsed building, and yet…” Happy trailed off with a grunt as his muscles strained. “Son of a bitch,” he sighed, letting go of the wrench, his arms flopping to the floor. “It’s stuck.”

Peter crawled forward and peaked inside. There was a bucket under the leaking pipe, a wad of bunched up towels that were probably slowly growing mold, and a large, red and black monkey wrench sticking out where it was attached to the end of the largest pipe. The same one that Happy had been trying to loosen for about five minutes.

There was also a red faced and sweaty Happy, but Peter ignored that.

He scooted forward, elbow bumping against Happy’s side as he reached for the wrench. He grabbed the handle, remembered that it was lefty loosey-righty tighty, and gave it a gentle nudge.

It might have been more than a nudge, because the threaded fitting that had seemingly been cemented in place before, just twisted loose.

Smooth as can be.

Peter smirked and looked down at Happy’s disbelieving frown. “I’m sure you loosened it for me.”

Happy just glared, unimpressed. “Just hand me the new gasket.”

And that was becoming a thing. Not the whole Happy having an attitude thing, that was anything but new, but the whole Happy helping out thing.

Which was kind of weird.

Sure, the leaking pipe needed fixed, and the building’s superintendent was taking his sweet time getting to it, but still.

Happy wasn’t exactly handyman material.

And yes, his and Peter’s relationship had definitely blossomed into something better than annoying runt with an unlimited mobile plan and the boss’s underappreciated head of security/occasional babysitter, but Peter didn’t think their friendship had evolved to fixing leaky pipes.

If Peter hadn’t been such a dumbass, he might have realized that was the first clue.

The second was when Happy barged into the nurse’s office at school, not necessarily unwelcome, but definitely unexpected.

It was Flash’s fault. A little of Peter’s because he wasn’t paying attention, but the majority of the blame was definitely on Flash.

It’d been a long time since Peter had been hurt in gym class, but one stray basketball and some really good aim was all it took for Peter to find himself sitting in a little plastic chair with Nurse Owens trying to oh so gently press some gauze into Peter’s still bleeding nostrils.

“I’m afraid it’s broken,” she said, wincing along with Peter as she tried to clean it. “Your aunt’ll have to take you to the doctor.”

Peter just groaned and tried to remember to breathe through his mouth. He accepted the Ziploc bag of ice with a distorted and nasally “thanks” and let his head fall back until it hit the wall.

Happy showed up about half an hour later, that familiar angry frown firmly in place. He took one look at the makeshift icepack on Peter’s face and the bruising peaking around the edges and asked, “Did he hit you?” before turning to Nurse Owens. “Did that kid hit him?”

“Happy, what are you doing here?”

Happy’s frown intensified. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“I called May.”

“And she was busy.”

“So she called you?”

“Would you rather stay and finish the school day with a broken face?”

No, he wouldn’t. But still.

Peter waited for Happy to sign him out and let him drive him home, frowning the entire time. The frown intensified when Happy escorted Peter to the apartment door and used a key Peter didn’t remember him having.

“Why do you have a key?”

“For emergencies,” Happy answered, making a face like it should have been obvious. “Tony and Pepper have one, too.”

And okay, that made sense.

But still. Future Peter would look back and mark that as clue number three.

Clue number four was the biggest. It also wasn’t so much a clue as it was a fucking slap to the face with a billboard.

It was Friday night and Ned had signed them up for an online Beast Slayer tournament. Ned’s mom was pulling another night shift, so it was unanimously decided that participation in said tournament would take place at the Leeds’ residence.

They had their laptops, chargers, phones, snacks, two extra-large supreme pizzas with stuffed crust and a family sized pack of peanut M&Ms that was already halfway demolished.

They were ready.

Except the wire to Ned’s headset had frayed and kept cutting in and out. Never let it be said that Peter wasn’t an amazing friend, because he reached in his backpack and handed Ned the Spider-Man mask.

“Here dude, just use this.” Ned did that wide-eyed look of awe that made him look like a literal emoji, and honestly, the dude should be used to this stuff by now. Peter just gave him a pat on the back as he went to retrieve more redbulls from the fridge.

When he came back, Ned was already playing, the mask in place, its eye lenses narrowed as Ned sorted through his online weapons cache.

Peter wanted to laugh, but held it back. “FYI, you’re not allowed to use Karen to cheat.”

Ned looked up from the screen, the mask’s eyes widening. “Dude, like she would help me beat you.”

Peter smirked and handed Ned his drink. “You already asked, didn’t you?”

“She said no,” Ned sighed. “Super loyal. Kinda annoying. Wait, no! Sorry, I didn’t—”

Peter popped open his can and took a sip. “She’s also super sensitive.” He dug into the pizza while Ned apologized to Karen and his game loaded.

Things moved pretty smoothly from there. It was just a regular guy’s night, like old times.

Peter realized he was super out of practice, a fact Ned needlessly pointed out after Peter died for the third time in a row.

They ran out of snacks sometime after midnight and were forced to raid the kitchen. They found a box of cookies in the pantry.

“These taste like cardboard.”

“They’re that low calorie no carb mess. I’m pretty sure they are cardboard.”

“Why are we still eating these?”

Ned just shrugged and stuffed another cookie in his mouth.

Peter did the same and resumed playing. With the exception of a too short power cord that caused them to have to shift their entire nest three feet to the left and one bathroom emergency, the night was pretty tame.

Until a little before three in the morning. Peter felt it first, his spider senses catching him off guard and causing him to look up.

“Dude, what the hell?” Ned cried as his character was suddenly left without backup.

But then the rest of reality caught up with Peter. The apartment shook, the empty redbull cans rattled on the coffee table before a loud, angry roar rocked through the city.

Peter reached over, pulled the mask (and a few hairs) off of Ned’s head and yanked it on. “Karen?” he asked, running to the window.

“The explosion appears to be located four blocks away,” she said as greeting.

“What happened?” Ned asked. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the window, jaw slack as he looked to the smoke that was barely visible in the distance.

“I don’t know.” Peter turned away and reached for his bag. “But I’m gonna find out.”

Ned wasn’t too happy with this, but Peter didn’t stick around long enough to hear him complain. He was in his suit and jumping off the fire escape in minutes.

Windows were lighting up all over the neighborhood as Peter swung towards the scene, people were peering outside, wandering barefoot into the streets to see if they could figure out what the hell had happened.

The cops had beaten Peter there, but they didn’t seem to have any better idea as to what had happened than Peter did. But that wasn’t really a big surprise.

It also wasn’t a surprise when one of the older officers shined a flashlight in Peter’s face and glared before yelling, “Yo, Spidey! You got anything to do with this?”

“Dude, I literally just got here!”

“Alright then, did one of your little friends do this?”

Peter rolled his eyes and dropped down onto the debris strewn street. “Bold of you to assume I have friends.”

The officer’s glare morphed into one of confusion. The guy was probably one of those losers who pronounced meme as “me-me” and complained about how millennials were ruining the toilet paper industry or some other bullshit.

His partner got it though, because he ducked his head, held back a laugh, and slapped the back of his hand against the old guy’s chest. “Leave him alone, Jimmy. The guy’s just trying to help.”

The old guy just rolled his eyes, wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned his flashlight on the nearest building.

Or what was left of it.

Based on the twisted and slightly smoldering sign lying on the opposite sidewalk, the building used to be one of those payday loan, check cashing places. It was sandwiched between a nail salon and a pawn shop, neither of which seemed to have taken much damage from what Peter was guessing had been a relatively impressive explosion.

Peter’s first thought was that it was a robbery. After all, he’d seen many people use explosives as a way to enter a building or open a safe.

But other than the cops, some newly arriving firemen, and some nosy onlookers, no one was around.

“You see anything?” the younger cop asked. He had joined Peter in the middle of the street, his elbow bumping against Peter’s as he moved his flashlight around. “Any bodies or anything?”

And man, Peter hoped there wasn’t a dead guy buried in the rubble. He took a step closer, eyes searching the busted up concrete and smoking bits of drywall, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Can you scan, please? Look for…anything.”

Peter stood still, letting Karen do her thing. His vision lit up, the dark and chaotic scene before him transforming into an electric grid as Karen’s scanners looked for signs of life…or something worse.

And leave it to her, she found it.

Peter _almost_ wished it had been a body.

“Everybody get back!” he ordered, grabbing Mr. Good Cop and pushing him towards the opposite side of the street. “Now!”

Cops and onlookers alike just stared at him. One of the firemen actually got closer.

Seriously?

The cop grabbed Peter’s wrist and planted his feet. “What are you—“

“There’s another bomb,” Peter explained. He was still pushing the cop, still gesturing for everyone to get back, to freaking listen to him.

Queens wasn’t completely full of idiots, because that was all it took for the neighbors who had all gathered in the street to go running.

“How do you know?” one of the cops asked.

“Are you sure?” asked another.

The young cop still had his hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist, his eyes wide. “Can you stop it?”

No, he couldn’t.

And not just because Peter had no idea how to disarm a freaking bomb, but because there wasn’t any time.

He felt it before it happened, just like before when he’d been sitting around a coffee table surrounded by the remains of a snack binge.

His spider senses flared, his gut dropped, and he acted on instinct. He spun his new cop buddy around, wrapping his arm around the guy’s chest as he turned, wrist flying out, shooting a web at Mr. Me-Me and his mustache covered glare.

Peter pulled, dragging the man towards him before pulling both officers behind a parked sedan. He pushed them to the ground, dropped down between them and put his arms over their heads before the world exploded.

That might have been an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like one. Just like before in Ned’s apartment, reality caught up with Peter’s senses because the ground shook, windows shattered, and an ear splitting, skull crushing roar engulfed the street.

And because Peter’s night wasn’t bad enough, he passed out.

He was knocked out, technically. Probably by flying debris or something equally as rude, but one minute Peter’s squeezing his eyes closed, begging his senses to just shut the fuck up, and the next he’s batting away someone’s hands as they tried to lift up his mask.

“Thank god, he’s alive.”

“The ambulance on the way?”

“Yeah, like two minutes out.”

Peter frowned and opened his eyes to find the two cops staring down at him, both covered in dust with bits of busted up concrete stuck in the folds of their jackets. “You two okay?”

The old cop frowned again, and Peter was starting to think that was the only facial expression the guy was capable of. “We’re fine, son. You’re the one that needs some attention.”

“Ambulance is on the way,” supplied the other, and oh boy, that was not what Peter needed.

“You two must be new here,” Peter said, feeling kinda proud about the lack of slurring, “But I’ll be fine. No ambulance needed.”

“We thought you were dead. You’re getting checked out.”

Peter pushed himself into a sitting position, waited until the world stopped moving, and said, “Nope, not happening. Not here, anyway.”

“Listen—” the cops began, put Peter just lifted his arm, fired a web, and jumped to the roof of one of the remaining buildings.

Yeah, he had to lay on said roof for a few minutes because he was dizzy as fuck, but still…they had tried to lift his freaking mask. The last thing he needed was to pass out and wake up to his face plastered all over the news.

He groaned, rolled onto his front, groaned again, and had just enough time to lift his mask before he threw up right there on the roof.

He climbed to his feet, gave one more spit for good measure, and sighed. “Karen, could this night get any worse?”

It was rhetorical, but she answered anyway.

“Peter, I believe you might have a concussion.”

“Thanks, Karen. Kinda figured that out on my own, but you know…you be you.”

“I suggest you get medical attention. I can notify Mr. Stark if you would like.”

“Maybe be a little less you, I’ll be fine.”

“Peter—“

“I’m going home. I’ll let May know, ‘kay?”

And apparently the fact that Peter wasn’t planning on hiding under a rock until he healed was good enough for her, because Karen stopped suggesting stupid things like calling Tony Stark at three in the morning.

It took a little longer than usual to make it home, but before long, he was climbing up the side of his building and slipping into his unlocked window.

The apartment was dark, the only light coming in from the windows and the digital alarm clock sitting on Peter’s desk. He turned to his bed, sat down, and immediately collapsed back, reveling in the comfort that was squeaking springs and hypo-allergenic pillows. Karen wasn’t impressed.

“Peter, you promised to tell Aunt May.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groaned as he rolled back up into a sitting position. This was gonna be great. Peter had had concussions before, he always bounced back, but May was still gonna freak out.

He took a deep breath, let it out on a heavy sigh and climbed to his feet. Peter liked to think that he could navigate the apartment blindfolded, that he knew it like the back of his hand, which is why he thought nothing of it as he closed his tired and burning eyes and meandered out of his room into the living room.

Remember that part where Peter asked if the night could get any worse? The answer was yes.

He’d just reached the sofa when his feet tripped over something heavy that shouldn’t have been there. He went down hard, arms flying out, trying to catch onto something in an effort to stop himself from hitting the floor.

He caught the lamp.

It just fell with him.

“Shit,” he hissed rolling onto his back and grabbing his elbow. He kicked his feet out, knocking aside whatever it was that he’d tripped over.

He blinked and in the low light shining through the window it looked like a clunky pair of black shoes.

Those definitely weren’t May’s.

Time for clue number four.

The door to May’s bedroom slammed open and a tall hulking figure emerged, gun drawn, face distorted in the low light and shadows. “Freeze!”

Peter froze. “Holy shit!”

“Parker?”

“Happy?”

Peter laid there, one hand holding a throbbing elbow as he tried to decide which fact he was more freaked out about. The fact that Happy had a gun aimed at his face, the fact that Happy wasn’t wearing any trousers, or the fact that Happy was coming out of Aunt May’s bedroom at three in the fucking morning.

“What the hell?”

A light turned on, May emerged in nothing but a t-shirt, frowning. She grabbed Happy’s wrist, lowered the gun, and looked at Peter with wide eyes. “I thought you were sleeping at Ned’s!”

Peter gaped. “And I thought you were sleeping alone!”

Happy looked down, face totally guilty, but May didn’t flinch. She looked Peter over, eyes taking in the dust and debris, the shattered remains of her thrift store lamp, and sighed. “Come on, baby. Get off the floor, you’re filthy.”

She reached down and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. Peter yanked off his mask and stared, tight-lipped and wide-eyed at his aunt. There were bigger things to worry about at the moment, thank you very much. He told her so, too.

But she didn’t listen.

Neither did Happy, because as soon as Peter pulled off his mask, that guilty look melted into one of worry. “Shit, kid. What did you do?”

Peter was just about to tell him to mind his own business when May, hand still on Peter’s arm, turned and began dragging him towards the bathroom.

Peter flinched when she turned on the too bright light and then flinched again when he saw his reflection. And holy shit, yeah, he looked bad.

His hair was fluffed up on one side, the way it always did when he wore his mask and his curls refused to behave, but all of the hair on the left side was plastered down, slick with blood that ran down in tiny thin rivulets and pooled in his ear.

He also had a massive gash over his eyebrow and his entire left eye was blood-shot, the white having disappeared, making his normally brown eye look almost black.

That or he really did have a serious concussion and his pupils were just wonky.

May lifted her leg and used her toe to close the lid to the toilet before guiding Peter, forcing him to sit. “You’re going to tell me what the hell happened or Happy and I will drag you to the hospital, super strength or not.”

“There was a bomb,” Peter said, “Two bombs actually.”

May looked up from where she was pulling the Stark approved first-aid kit out from beneath the bathroom sink. She paled but kept moving, gathering her supplies to play nurse-maid.

“I wasn’t there for the first bomb,” he clarified when he noticed her hands shaking slighting as she worked to wet a washcloth. “Just the second.”

“Good to know,” she said, voice flat. She sat on the edge of the tub, kit at her feet, knees knocking against Peter’s as she worked to clean the blood away and assess the damage. “Are you bleeding anywhere else?”

“No.” But to be fair, he hadn’t realized he was bleeding at all so… “At least, I don’t think so.”

May didn’t look overly thrilled with that answer.

Apparently, neither was Happy. “I’ll ask Karen, hold on,” he said from the doorway.

This confused Peter because A, he still had his mask clenched in his hand and B, he thought only he and Tony had access to Karen. So while he was relieved to turn and see that Happy was now wearing a pair of sweatpants, he was a little surprised to see him looking at his phone.

“You can talk to Karen?”

“Yeah,” Happy said distractedly, frowning at the screen, “She’s supposed to alert me when you’re in trouble.”

“I wasn’t in trouble.”

“You got a hole in the side of your head, Parker.”

“That’s a major exaggeration.” Peter hoped he wasn’t lying.

“I’m calling Tony,” Happy began, and nope, there were already too many people involved in this little scenario than Peter was comfortable with.

He raised his arm, flicked his wrist, and _thwipped_ Happy’s phone right out of his hand.

“What—“

“We’re not calling Tony.”

May grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to call Mr. Stark for this.”

Happy stepped into the bathroom and grabbed his phone out of Peter’s hand, grimacing at the webbing that was now glued to the screen. “I think—“

“I don’t really care what you think right now,” Peter snapped. It wasn’t said loudly but it still echoed around the small bathroom.

Happy just stared at him, face blank.

And all the anger Peter felt just sort of evaporated. “I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. He ducked his head and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He expected Happy to yell back, to tell him it didn’t matter what he thought, injuries trumped feelings.

Instead, he heard May quietly ask “Will you give us a minute?” before Happy turned and walked away.

Peter looked up and met his aunt’s eyes, her expression a mix of judgement and worry.

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated. “I’m not—I don’t know why I yelled.”

May gently nudged his chin to the side and wiped at the blood in his ear. “You weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

May sighed, rinsed the washcloth in the sink and sat back down on the edge of the tub. “I don’t know, I guess—I guess I just wanted to see where it was going to go, you know? If it was just a little fling, there wouldn’t have been a reason to worry you with it, but if it turned into something more, then…”

“We’re supposed to tell each other everything,” Peter reminded her, “_I_ tell _you_ everything.”

May’s hand stilled as she leveled him with an unimpressed glare, one eyebrow significantly higher than the other.

Peter rolled his eyes, regretted the way it made the room wobble, and said, “Spider-Man aside, I legit have told you everything. Probably even too much.”

The corner of May’s mouth quirked up into an unintentional smile. “Have you decided whether or not you’re gonna ask MJ out yet?”

“We’re focusing on _your_ love life at the moment, May.”

Her grin fell and she tossed the bloody cloth into the tub. “I didn’t think you’d have a problem with me dating again.”

“I don’t.”

“You could have fooled me.”

And Peter didn’t really have anything else to say to that. Did he have a problem with May dating again? Guys hit on her all the time. Even a few women had been known to slip her their number, which always seemed to make May blush, but Peter had never had a problem with any of it.

So why was he so uncomfortable with it now?

Peter tried to answer that question while they patched him up, but by the time he convinced them not to call in the cavalry and to just let him go to bed, he still didn’t have an answer.

Waking up the next morning didn’t make Peter feel any better about the situation, but that probably had more to do with the fact that Tony was sitting on the edge of his bed, poking Peter in the ribcage.

“Up and at ‘em, squirt. I need a sign of life to let me know you’re not dead.”

Peter stuck his arm out from beneath the covers and extended his middle finger.

“Good, you’re alive.” Tony slapped Peter’s hand out of his face and continued to poke. “Now roll over and let me see the damage.”

Peter groaned but did as he was told.

And while this stopped the poking, it didn’t exactly improve the situation. Tony frowned, reached forward and proceeded to shine an unnecessarily bright light in Peter’s eyes.

“Alright, kid. D’you want me to sugarcoat it?”

Peter squinted his eyes against the intrusive light. “Sure.”

“You look like shit.” Tony tossed the penlight onto Peter’s desk and continued to frown. “You gonna tell me why I wasn’t called?”

“Was there a reason you should have been?”

“You got blown up, Parker.”

“And I told an adult,” Peter quickly pointed out. He pushed himself up into a seated position, grimaced at the way it pulled on his back and shoulder, and added, “Two adults actually.”

“Karen doesn’t count as an adult.”

Peter smirked. “I wouldn’t let her hear you say that and I wasn’t talking about Karen. I meant Happy.”

“So you’ll call Happy at three in the morning but not me? I’m hurt.”

“Oh, I didn’t call him.”

Tony, who had begun examining the stitches just above Peter’s ear, grabbed Peter’s chin and turned his head so he could look him in the eye.

“You want to elaborate?”

“Not really.” Peter pushed Tony’s hands away and rubbed tiredly at his face, careful of the still healing bruises. “But seeing how you’re not likely to let it go, Happy spent the night here last night.”

Tony frowned. “Why?”

Peter looked up, surprised. Did Tony really not already know? Based on the way Tony was staring at him, face all frowny and eyes squinted in confusion, maybe he didn’t. So Peter let him in on the secret.

“He spent the night with May.”

Tony apparently really was a genius because he caught on quick. Didn’t mean he believed it though. He was doing that half-smirk thing, like he was almost too lazy to laugh all the way, chin dipped, eyebrows raised. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“Nope.”

“Happy Hogan? My Happy?”

“The one and only.”

Tony looked away, his features slacking as he stared off into the distance, slowly processing this new information. Eventually, he started to smile, clearly not sharing Peter’s reaction to the news.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The bastard actually sounded impressed.

Peter rolled his eyes, kicked off his covers, and pushed Tony out of the way as he climbed out of bed. He sleepily made his way into the living room, noted the absence of Happy’s giant tripping hazard shoes, and kicked the bathroom door shut.

He still looked pretty bad, but his reflection was nowhere near the gory shit show it had been the night before. The stitches were small and clean, making a nice straight line that blended into his hairline. His eye was still red, but some of the white had come back, making it look more like a melted peppermint rather than a ball of blood. The bruises were barely there now, the worst of them already taking on that sickly greenish yellow hue as they traced around his scabbed eyebrow down towards his cheek.

He had looked worse.

Peter just shrugged, turned on the faucet and stuck his head beneath the cold water, both to try and wake up and to tame down the unruly curls that were rebelling against gravity.

Peter was trying not to let the water hit his stitches when Tony knocked on the door.

“So, how long has this little Happy and May thing been going on?”

Peter closed his eyes, reminded himself that he was totally okay with Happy and May dating and called out, “Like a month. Maybe.”

“Seriously? And you didn’t tell me? I thought we were besties, Parker.”

Peter grabbed a towel, ran it over his sopping wet head, and pulled the bathroom door open. “You’re assuming I knew about it.”

“May didn’t tell you?” Tony asked, seeming almost gleeful, or Tony’s version of it. He looked relatively calm, except for how his eyebrows had risen and the way his mouth threatened to turn up into a smile. “Scandalous.”

“Not really,” Peter mumbled, letting the towel drop to the floor before collapsing onto the couch.

Tony was slowly moving around the living room, his attention anywhere but on Peter as he took inventory, looking for anything that might have changed since the last time he’d visited. “Hate to intrude on your innocence, Parker, but May keeping this little affair from you officially makes Happy Hogan her dirty little secret.”

“He didn’t tell you about it either,” Peter pointed out.

“A fact I’m going to discuss with him at length when I get home.”

“Does this mean you’ll drop it till then?”

Tony’s nose wrinkled as he pretended to consider. “Not likely,” he admitted, picking up one of May’s hair ties and playing with it. “This is the most interesting thing Happy’s done since…well, since I met him.”

“It’s not that interesting,” Peter countered.

Tony tossed the hair tie onto the coffee table and picked up one of May’s DVDs. “Kid, you might not see it because she’s like your mom, but your aunt is hot and _way _out of Happy’s league. Socially speaking, this is a gossip goldmine.”

Peter leaned his head back and laid his arm over his eyes. “You’re like one of those old ladies who reads the tabloids in the checkout line at Costco and complains to everyone within hearing distance about the latest celebrity scandals.”

“We’re gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” Tony said. “And how sure are we that they were having a grownup sleep over? He wasn’t just returning a casserole dish, or fixing another pipe, or—”

“It was three in the morning and he was in his underwear.”

“So pretty sure then.” Tony dropped May’s copy of _Beauty Shop_ onto the coffee table next to the hair tie and sat down next to Peter. “I need more details,” Tony declared, poking Peter’s ribs once more. “Come on, Parker. You normally rattle on endlessly about things that aren’t remotely interesting. Why are you so quiet about this?”

“Maybe because I don’t care?” Peter tried to make it sound nonchalant, like it was true, but it definitely came out a little snappish. And loud. It was definitely loud.

Tony must have finally caught on to the fact that Peter wasn’t as excited about Happy and May’s new status as he was because he leaned over, pushed Peter’s arm off his eyes and said, “Hey, what’s with the attitude? Look at me.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re yelling at me. You do not yell at me.”

Peter groaned and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m sorry.”

Tony just stared at him for a while, eyes narrowed, forehead doing that wrinkly thing it did when he was thinking too hard.

Finally, he clapped his hands, slapped Peter on the shoulder, and jumped to his feet. “Okay, let’s go.”

Peter looked up and frowned. “Where?”

“Tower. I’m gonna take a picture of your brain.”

Peter rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the couch. “I’m fine.”

Tony stared at him some more. “So all of this is just you freaking out about seeing Happy in his tighty whities? Not a massive brain bleed?”

“My brain is fine,” Peter assured him. “A little traumatized because I interrupted my aunt’s booty call, but I’m fine.”

“Alright then. Get dressed anyway.”

“Why?”

“Donuts are good at counteracting psychological scarring. That and I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

It took way longer than it should have to get donuts, partly because Peter was tired and sore and not willing to move faster than was necessary but mostly because Tony wanted donuts from Manhattan.

“We have donuts in Queens.”

“I’m sure you do, but I want quality donuts.”

“Just because you pay more for them doesn’t mean they taste better.”

Peter was willing to bet on that being true the majority of the time. This time, however, he was wrong. Not that he was about to admit it.

The donuts were hot and fresh and when Peter squeezed them they would oh so slowly puff back up.

Tony bought two dozen consisting of multiple flavors and a bag of donut holes for good measure. Peter had eaten three before Tony decided it was time to talk.

“I was serious earlier, you know,” he said, licking icing off his fingers.

Peter stuffed half a chocolate donut in his mouth and asked, “’bout what?”

“You not calling me.” They were sitting on a bench somewhere in the middle of Central Park, the donuts piled between them, sunglasses on, both to hide the fact that Tony was Tony and that Peter looked like a battered child. “When you get hurt, like seriously hurt, you call me.”

Peter chewed slowly, taking his time while he tried to think of what to say. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going, and he didn’t really like it. “It wasn’t serious.”

Tony didn’t answer, at least not directly. He simply pulled his phone out of his pocket and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y, pull up the news feed from this morning, please,” before handing Peter the phone.

F.R.I.D.A.Y had just chimed in what a “yes, boss,” as Peter looked at the screen. There were over a dozen sites listed, each describing the bombing in various click bait-y ways ranging from puns full of alliteration to outright scare tactics.

Peter scrolled down until he saw Spider-Man’s name listed next to a video and clicked play. The video was sort of blurry, shot vertically, and way too shaky but it was good enough that Peter could tell immediately what it was.

Spider-Man was standing in the middle of the street, screaming for everyone to get back. There was some more shaking, a little swearing as someone jostled the amateur cameraman, and then the cameraman was running.

This went on for several seconds, the footage too blurry to make out anything other than passing colors as everyone tried to do as Spider-Man instructed and get the hell out of the way.

Peter knew it was coming. He was playing back the events of that night in his head, right along with the video, trying to remember how long it had taken him to get the cops behind the car. He must have timed it wrong though, because the sound of the explosion still caught him off guard, causing him to jump, knocking the stack of napkins he’d had propped on his knee to flutter to the ground.

Tony didn’t say anything, he just continued to watch Peter.

Peter was about to hand Tony back his phone when he realized the video was still playing. The cameraman, whoever he was, had gone back to the scene. There was so much dust in the air that it was hard to see anything other than the blurred out lights from the firetrucks and police cars that were filtering through the suddenly thick air.

But that wasn’t what Peter was focusing on.

In between the yells for help and the panicked screams, he could make out people asking in horror, “Is he dead?”

The cameraman had made it through the falling dust and had gotten close enough to see the cops push a disturbingly floppy and clearly unresponsive Spider-Man off of them.

“I think he’s dead.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Someone call an ambulance!”

The cops looked confused, the older one yelling into his radio as the younger one laid his head on Spider-Man’s chest.

When the man reached for the mask, Peter handed Tony back the phone. He didn’t need to see the rest, he remembered that part.

Tony took the phone and set it on top of the box of donuts. “That’s what I woke up to this morning.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you hack your suit again?”

“No?”

“Then why didn’t Karen notify me immediately?”

Peter shrugged. “I asked her not to.”

Tony’s left eyebrow began to slowly climb up his forehead. “You asked her not to?”

“Yeah.”

“She ignored programming because you asked her not to?”

“I asked really nicely.”

Tony rolled his eyes and popped another donut hole in his mouth. “You have to stop corrupting my AIs.”

“You’re just mad because they like me more than you.”

“You sure your brain’s not damaged?”

Peter smiled and grabbed another donut.

Tony bent down grabbed the fallen napkins and sighed. It was a heavy sigh, totally telling, and Peter braced himself.

“So you gonna be okay with this?” Tony asked, tucking the napkins beneath his leg and trying to act casual.

Peter frowned. “Okay with what?”

“May and Happy bumping uglies.”

Peter frowned some more just because he could, then grabbed Tony’s phone off the donut box. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, please add anything having to do with May’s ‘ugly’ to the list of things Mr. Stark isn’t allowed to talk about.”

“Of course, Peter.”

Tony just grinned and popped another donut hole in his mouth. “So, Happy really wears tighty whities?”

“Boxer briefs.”

“Huh. Sensible.” Tony nodded, then frowned. “Do you think Pepper knows?”

She did. They found out when Tony took Peter back to the tower.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long to find out,” she said when Tony stormed in, interrupting her morning workout. She turned off the treadmill and grabbed a towel. “Rhodey thought you already knew and were just silently planning something.”

This obviously was not what Tony expected to hear. “Rhodey knew?”

Pepper wiped the sweat from her face, hung the towel back on the treadmill and gave Tony a pitying look. “I think everyone knew except you, Tony.”

Peter slowly raised his hand and said, “I didn’t know.” This, of course, just made Pepper’s pitying look move over to him.

It didn’t last long though, because as soon as she was done offering Peter a sad but encouraging smile, she turned to Tony with a stern and demanding frown. “You will not bother him about this.”

For a moment, Peter thought he was the ‘him’ she was talking about, but then she continued, tone just as stern as before.

“The last thing Happy needs is you interfering in his relationship.”

Tony frowned. “I would nev—“

“Don’t even finish that,” Pepper ordered. “We both know it’s a lie.”

She then turned to Peter. “And sweetie, try not to look so dejected. Happy’s a great guy. May could do a lot worse.”

And that was true. Peter liked Happy, probably a hell of a lot more than Happy liked Peter.

So what was the problem?

Peter didn’t know. He also wasn’t going to find out because he had decided the best course of action was to do the socially awkward thing of pretending that nothing had changed.

This of course was not that easy, mainly because now that Peter knew, May and Happy weren’t really trying that hard to keep it a secret.

Like, at all.

Peter found this out when he walked into the apartment later that evening to find Happy sitting on the couch, shoes off, feet propped up as he searched through May’s Netflix queue.

At least he was wearing pants.

Happy looked up when Peter entered and offered an awkward, somewhat shy smile. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, Hap.” Peter dropped his keys on the kitchen table and tried to return the smile. It was close-lipped and tight, but it was still a smile so it counted.

Peter had never been awkward around Happy, not once, even when he probably should have been, and yet…

Peter stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked on the balls of his feet and looked around, pulling a move out of Tony’s book and doing inventory on the Parker apartment.

Happy was apparently just as uncomfortable, because he just sort of bounced the remote in his hand and looked at his knees.

That was how May found them. She entered the room, her hands fumbling as she tried to put on an earring and walk at the same time when she stopped and frowned.

“We’re not doing this,” she said.

Peter looked to Happy, then back to May. “Doing what?”

“Whatever weird, pseudo-macho standoff you two have got going on,” she said, gesturing between Peter and Happy. “You are friends. You love one another, and you’re going to fucking act like it. Got it?”

Peter looked back to Happy who just sort of smirked and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

May seemed pleased, because she smirked back then turned to Peter, gave him a once over and said, “Good. Now sweetie, go brush your hair and change shirts. You’re not wearing that.”

Peter looked down at the t-shirt he was wearing and frowned. “Um…why?”

“You’re coming with us.”

And no, he was not.

“I’m not crashing your date.”

Happy apparently agreed because he set up straighter and asked, “He’s coming with us?”

“Yes,” May answered. When both Peter and Happy looked like they were about to argue, she pointed a threatening finger at them both and added, “And if you keep making this weird, I’ll one up both of you and stay home while _you two_ go without me.”

As much as Peter thought she was bullshitting, he wasn’t really willing to call her bluff. So he shared a confused frown with Happy then trudged to his room to find a shirt that didn’t have a picture on the front.

He refused to brush his hair though. It was fine.

Dinner, however, was not. Happy and Peter unanimously decided to blame it on May.

“I’m just saying,” Peter said, slowly twirling his fork through his chicken alfredo and totally not pouting, “This wouldn’t be half as awkward if you had just let me stay home.”

Happy nodded and began cutting into his steak so hard the plate rattled against the table. “Kid’s got a point, May.”

May just ordered more wine and shoved half a breadstick in her mouth.

Needless to say, May no longer tried to force them to get along. In fact, she seemed to have adopted Peter’s stance on the situation, pretending nothing had changed, at least when she was around Peter.

By the end of the weekend, they had reached the point that neither of them was even mentioning Happy. At least not to each other.

Peter totally mentioned him to Ned and MJ.

“I totally called it,” Ned said after Peter finished explaining why getting blown up was not the biggest part of his weekend.

“Did not,” MJ countered. “You totally thought she was gonna hook up with Banner.”

“Happy was on the list, though,” Ned pointed out. “Right above Rhodey and below Captain America.”

Peter banged his head against his locker and groaned. “I need new friends.”

MJ and Ned ignored him, the bell rang and they went to class. Things moved normally from there on and the teachers were sadistic enough that Peter was actually too busy to think about anything other than what was happening at the moment.

But then lunch came around, MJ slammed her lunch tray on the table, and asked completely unprompted, “So, how’re you gonna deal with the sex?”

Peter’s answer was to drop his bottle of orange juice, spilling it all over the table in the process. MJ didn’t care. She just threw a single paper napkin at him and began to eat.

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked after he had managed to sop up the majority of the juice.

“May and Happy,” she clarified, slowly gnawing on a french-fry. “They’re not keeping it a secret anymore, so he’ll probably be spending the night more often.”

“So? What do—”

“You got super hearing right?”

Peter stopped worrying about the spilled juice and looked up, the implications slowly coming together.

Ned lowered his pudding cup and made another emoji face, this one all wide-eyed and horrified. “Dude.”

Peter propped his elbows on the now sticky table and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned. “Oh god.”

MJ just shrugged and grabbed another french-fry. “You might want to say something. You know, preferably before the inevitable happens.”

Peter looked up and cringed just thinking about it. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Happy knows, doesn’t he?” Ned asked. “I mean, he knows all of your powers, right?”

MJ just shook her head. “You willing to bet on it?”

Peter could just imagine it, him walking up to May and informing her that her love life would have to be put on hold until he moved out. Unless…

“Could you tell her?” he asked, looking at MJ with what he hoped was the nicest, most desperately convincing puppy face he’d ever made.

MJ paused in her french-fry eating and frowned. “Tell her that you can hear through walls?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “And that she can’t have sex. At least, not when I’m in the apartment.”

MJ grabbed another fry. “I am not about to tell your aunt she can’t get laid.”

And neither was Peter

But Peter figured it wasn’t really a problem, because when he got home May continued to follow Peter’s example, the one where he refused to mention Happy.

And if she wasn’t even talking about Happy, then she probably wasn’t going to be bringing him over, which meant, you know…

But that all changed the next night.

No, Happy didn’t spend the night again, but May did decide she’d had enough of trying it Peter’s way. They needed to talk.

But she was a lot more subtle about approaching delicate topics than MJ, which is why Peter didn’t really see it coming.

He’d just gotten out of the shower and was getting ready to play a video game when she knocked on the door and waved a bottle of nail polish in the air.

“Will you do my right hand?” she asked, the same way she always did when she got half-way through and remembered that she wasn’t left handed.

Peter tossed his controller on the bed and followed his aunt to the kitchen table. Painting nails was something he was actually pretty good at. Ben had tried, or he used to say he did, but he could never color inside the lines the way Peter could.

So, since Peter was ten years old, he’d always helped May when she decided it was time for a manicure.

He sat the small bottle on the table, grabbed her hand and started with her thumb. When he had moved on to the next finger, she cleared her throat and calmly said, “So, Happy and I were planning on renting a movie tomorrow night.”

It was the first time either of them had mentioned Happy since Saturday night’s disastrous meal.

“I figured it wouldn’t be a problem, since you’d probably be out patrolling till nine anyway, right?”

Peter dipped the brush back in the polish and moved on to her middle finger. “Sure.”

May suddenly pulled her hand back, making Peter smear a streak of _frosty periwinkle_ right across his thumb.

“Peter, look at me.”

Peter wiped the wet polish on the palm of his hand and looked up.

“Does it really bother you that much? Me being with Happy.”

“No.”

“Peter—”

“I don’t care that you’re with Happy. I like Happy, and—I mean, it’s better than you being with some guy that doesn’t know about the whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“That is bullshit, and you know it. You have been acting super weird ever since you found out. If I’m being honest, you’ve been kind of an asshole.”

Peter put the brush back in the bottle and frowned. “I’m not an asshole.”

“Then stop acting like one.” She said it with a smile, but she meant it.

Peter ducked his head, let out a breathy chuckle and said, “Okay, fair enough.” He rubbed his hands down his face and then through his hair and gave a heavy sigh before looking back at May. “I’ll call Happy tomorrow. I’ll apologize for being an asshole and for ruining your date, even though the date thing was kind of your fault.”

May’s smile grew. “Thank you,” she said before tilting her head and narrowing her eyes questioningly. “Does this mean we can have movie night without you throwing a temper tantrum?”

“I did not throw a temper tantrum.”

“You yelled, sweetie. You never yell.”

“I would like to remind you that I had a concussion,” Peter said. “And I had just had a gun waved in my face by a half-naked man. I think a little yelling can be forgiven.”

May rolled her eyes and offered Peter her hand again, gesturing to the bottle of nail polish. “Whatever. But yes to movie night?”

“Yes to movie night,” he said. He grabbed the brush and resumed painting. He wanted to let it end there, to finish May’s nails and end the night on a positive note.

But MJ’s knowing face and haunting words kept replaying themselves in his head.

Fuck.

He bit his lip, shifted in his seat, and moved to her ring finger before saying, “He can’t spend the night though.”

May visibly sighed, clearly disappointed. “Peter—"

“No, I’m not— it’s just,” Peter paused, licked his lips and cringed as he said, “I have like, super hearing so—"

May pulled her hand away again. “Oh god.” She was making one of Ned’s horrified emoji faces. “Since when?”

“Since I got my powers.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“You never brought a guy home before!”

“So you were just gonna wait until I did?”

“I thought I’d have a warning! Like you know, you going on a date or something. Not a freaking gun in my face and Happy’s pale thighs!”

May buried her face in her hands, not caring that her hair was sticking to the wet polish on her fingers. “Oh god.”

Peter just sat there, patiently waiting for the psychological trauma to subside and for his aunt to get it together.

After about thirty long seconds of silence, he cleared his throat and quietly asked, “Yeah….so, we good?”

May looked up, her eyes still wide. “Huh? Yeah. No sleepovers when you’re home.”

“Thanks.” Peter tapped his fingers on the table, pursed his lips to the side and pointed to the forgotten bottle of nail polish. “Do you want me to finish your hand?”

She numbly extended her arm and just sort of stared at the wall, her cheeks tinted an unusually bright pink as she refused to look at him.

Peter finished painting her nails, did what he could to fix what she had messed up and disappeared into his room.

Needless to say, except for a quick “I love you” they didn’t speak to one another the rest of the night.

And Happy was long gone by the time Peter got home the following day.

Peter did call, just like he’d promised. He apologized for any asshole-ish tendencies he may or may not have exhibited over the past few days and promised Happy that he was totally fine with him dating May.

They were both adults and didn’t need Peter’s permission anyway. Peter knew this, but MJ felt the need to keep pointing it out.

Happy didn’t seem too bothered by it though, or if he was, it didn’t show. Except for a kinda tense but not really exchange of “hey, why didn’t you tell me you had super hearing?” that was quickly followed by “hey, why didn’t you tell me you were sleeping with my aunt?” things went back to normal between Happy and Peter.

At least on the surface.

Peter was trying really, really hard not to be an asshole.

He was a supportive and loving nephew who didn’t freak out when he walked through the door and saw Happy sitting on his couch.

He didn’t overreact when May didn’t come home after date night.

He even started sending Happy texts again. They were mostly memes, the really obscure ones that Peter knew would make Happy angry when he didn’t understand them, but still. Progress.

And with the exception of a slight disagreement on the proper way to make mac and cheese, they were totally getting along.

“You need to add more milk.”

“No, it’ll make it soupy. My mac and cheese is not soupy, Parker.”

“I know. It’s because you didn’t add enough milk.”

“I will hit a child with a ladle, I swear. I’ll do it.”

He didn’t, but if they were being honest, that was the closest Happy and Peter had gotten to their version of normal since the big reveal.

And with the exception of having to eat sub-par mac and cheese, Peter was pretty pleased with it all. Like he said, he liked Happy, he really did. And May seemed happier, more relaxed, like it did her good to have something else on her mind besides Peter and Spider-Man.

But Peter still felt that little niggle of unease, that small hint of emotional discomfort whenever anyone mentioned Happy and May in the same breath or when the two did anything overtly coulpe-ish.

And while Happy and May worked to keep the goo goo eyes to a minimum when Peter was present, everyone else fucking sucked.

People kept mentioning it. A lot.

Which was probably why Peter was having a hard time keeping to the ‘not being an asshole’ promise he’d made.

It started with Bucky.

They were huddled around Tony’s kitchen counter, each of them devouring the Cuban sandwiches they’d gotten from the food truck illegally parked outside when Happy strolled in, out of breath and angrily typing on his phone, forehead wrinkled and eyes squinted.

“Do you need your glasses?” Peter asked in between bites. He was leaning over the counter, trying not to let the juice from the sandwich leak onto his shirt.

Happy frowned and tossed the phone next to the ignored stack of napkins. “No. What I need is for people to learn how to do their jobs. I’ve been trying to get the security cleared for Pepper’s presentation next week, but the venue doesn’t seem to understand the concept of background checks.”

He sighed, looked at the sandwiches Bucky and Peter were eating, and raised an expectant eyebrow. “Did you get me one?”

“Microwave,” Bucky said, tilting his head towards it as he licked mustard off his hand. “Thought you’d be gone longer, and we figured you wouldn’t want someone stealing it.”

Happy looked relieved. He grabbed his sandwich from the microwave, rolled up his sleeves, and imitated Bucky and Peter’s hunched positions over the counter. “So,” he began, mouth full of pork and pickles, “Did you finish that paper?’

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“It’s due Friday.”

“I finished it.”

Happy nodded and took another bite. Bucky just looked between the two, silently chewing.

As soon as Happy swallowed, he wiped his mouth and said, “Don’t forget that you’ve got Decathlon practice on Thursday.”

“I know.”

“MJ said she will kick your ass if you miss two in a row.”

“I’m aware.”

Happy shrugged and pulled a pickle out of his sandwich and popped it in his mouth. “Just saying. If anyone could do it, it’s that girl.”

Peter actually grinned then. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Happy matched Peter’s grin and continued eating. At least for a few more bites, because then he tilted his head and said, “May says you still haven’t asked her out.”

Bucky looked up, and while he didn’t say anything, he clearly was waiting for Peter’s response.

Peter, however, was trying not to choke. “What?”

“MJ,” Happy clarified. “May says you like her, but you won’t ask her out.”

“I’m going to politely ask that we change the subject.”

“Why?”

“Because I literally cannot talk about this with you.”

“You can blow up my phone to tell me about that guy who walked into a light pole and a dog that kept following you around, but we can’t talk about a girl you actually know?”

“No, we can’t.”

“Why?

“Because it’s none of your business.”

Bucky was totally trying to look like he wasn’t interested. He just gnawed on a french-fry, face blank as his eyes darted back and forth.

Happy’s face was blank too, but in a completely different way. While Bucky was doing a pretty good job at looking like he didn’t give a fuck, Happy just looked…blank.

He just stared at Peter, and Peter was kinda sorta starting to feel bad, like maybe he had crossed that line again. He was about to apologize when Happy’s phone began to buzz.

Happy looked at it, made a growling noise when he saw who was calling and answered it, snapping an irritated “Hogan,” in greeting as he turned and walked away, leaving Peter, Bucky, and his uneaten sandwich behind.

Bucky ate another french-fry and casually asked, “So, is he gonna be your new stepdad?”

Peter, who was trying to decide whether he should follow after Happy and beg for forgiveness, turned and frowned. “What? No. “

“He’s dating your mom though, right?” Bucky asked.

“She’s my aunt.”

“Step uncle then.”

“He’s just Happy. Nothing else.”

Except Happy was no longer happy, and Peter felt like a dick.

“Just apologize,” MJ said. “It’s not like he hasn’t had his share of asshole behavior. Didn’t he ignore you the entire first year you knew him?”

“It was just a few months, and that’s different. He didn’t yell at me.” Peter was currently laid out on the bleachers, his arm thrown over his eyes as he languished dramatically.

MJ was sitting with her knees pulled up as she leaned back. She had her elbow propped on Peter’s forehead, using him as an armrest as she thumbed through a textbook. “What did you yell at him about again?”

“Nothing important,” Peter lied.

And he kept lying. Mostly to himself, because he totally wasn’t okay with the whole scenario.

But except for Bucky and Happy, no one else seemed to have figured it out.

“When they get married, are you gonna be the ring boy, Parker?” Sam asked one day after May stopped by the tower to drop off Peter’s bag.

Peter glared. “They’ve only been dating like two months.”

“Weirder things have happened.” Sam pulled on his gear, smiling the entire time. “I mean, look at Vegas. They have an entire industry on quickie weddings.”

Peter pulled on his mask and made sure to web Sam’s wing pack to the bench before heading for the training area.

Clint and Natasha weren’t any better. “What if they have kids?” Natasha asked.

Peter looked up from his phone and frowned. “May doesn’t want kids.”

“She has you,” Clint pointed out. He ruffled Peter’s hair as he walked by, plopping onto the couch and propping his boots up on the coffee table. “So she’s already got the mom thing down.”

“I don’t count,” Peter informed him, running his hands through his hair and trying to get the curls to lay back flat. “Besides, there’s a big difference between me moving in and her, like, actually having a baby.”

Natasha pushed Clint’s feet off the table and stole the remote before anyone else could grab it. “I think Happy would make a good dad,” she said.

She sat next to Peter and did a rather good job at pretending not to see him pout. “Cute little chubby cheeked babies, all waddling around with a perpetual frown,” she continued, eyes focused on the TV and the movie guide. “I’d love it.”

Peter just buried himself deeper into the cushions.

It was quiet for a few minutes, up until she pulled her feet onto the couch and pushed her foot against Peter’s shoulder. “You’d be a good big brother, too.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“For starters, I wouldn’t be their brother.”

Peter wasn’t looking at her but he _felt _her roll her eyes. “Don’t be like that,” she ordered.

Peter didn’t look up from his phone. “Like what?”

“Full of all this teenage angst and righteous fury.” She pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and proceeded to wrap herself up like a human burrito. “You’re a lot more likeable when you’re being a good little boy scout.”

“And you’re a lot more likeable when you’re being quiet.”

This earned a snort from Clint and a sharp glare from Natasha.

“Watch it, Parker,” she warned, tucking her feet beneath his leg as she tried to find a comfortable movie watching position. “I’m not Happy. I’ll kick your ass.”

Peter finally looked up. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“Barnes did,” she admitted, eyes back on the TV. “And for the record, I think you should apologize.”

“Noted.”

“I also think you should ask MJ out.”

Peter sighed and put his phone away as she finally selected a movie. “I was right.”

Natasha lifted her head and frowned. “About what?”

“You _are_ more likeable when you’re quiet.”

She didn’t kick his ass, but he did get a sock covered foot shoved in his face. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. Case in point…

Peter didn’t know if it was just an unconscious habit at this point or not, but the first person he called when he was in trouble was Happy.

Whether he wanted to or not.

He had already entered the phone booth, dialed the number, and was listening to it ring before he realized who he had called.

But he was out of quarters and in kind of a hurry, so no take backs.

“This is Hogan,” Happy’s gruff voice greeted after the fourth ring.

Peter physically relaxed at the sound of the familiar voice, at least until the heavy sigh of relief pulled at his side, resulting in a cringe. “Happy, I need your help.”

“Where are you?” No nonsense, straight to the point. Classic Happy.

Peter tried to see through the graffiti smeared glass, gave up, and peeked his head outside. All he could see were people and cars and the Empire State Building in the distance. He turned and looked the other way, saw a recognizable sign, and said, “You know the Build-A-Bear on 34th? I’m near that.”

“You hurt?”

“Kinda.”

“Why didn’t Karen send a notification? Did you hack her again?”

“No, I did not.” Peter was really getting tired of people automatically assuming that. “And this isn’t a Spider-Man thing. This is a New York sucks thing.”

“I’m gonna need more than that, Peter.”

“I got mugged. Guy took my phone and wallet.”

“Did he get your suit?”

“No, my bag’s at home. But my phone has pictures and—“

“And Tony encrypted it. You’re fine. Besides, we’ll track it and get it back. Don’t worry. How bad are you hurt? Is there bleeding?”

“Uh…” Peter looked down at his ruined shirt and cringed. “A little?”

“A little?”

“I’d say a moderate amount.”

There was a sound that was undeniably a sigh of frustration followed by the revving of a car’s engine. “What’s my rule, Parker?”

“Don’t die.”

“Damn straight. Sit tight, I’m on my way.”

Happy got there in record time. Peter was actually impressed. He couldn’t say the same for the line of cars that were honking as Happy pulled to a stop right in the middle of the street, but Peter wasn’t about to complain.

He pressed a hand to his side, gritted his teeth, and left the relative safety of his hiding place and power walked to the waiting car. As soon as Peter pulled the door closed, Happy took off. “Let me see.”

“Just drive, it’s fine.”

“You’re bleeding all over my car. It is not fine,” Happy corrected. “Now how bad?”

“Just need stitches,” Peter decided, lifting his shirt and looking at the small gash. It hurt, like a lot, but he wasn’t about to die.

Happy must have agreed because the car slowed a little and he remembered to use a blinker.

But then again, he was also going the wrong way. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” Happy explained. “I’ve got a kit, and Tony can meet us there.”

“You called Tony?”

“Yes, because unlike you, I know how to follow procedure.”

“That and he signs your paycheck.”

Happy just tossed him an unimpressed glare and said, “You’re lucky I didn’t call May.”

Peter looked up from the mess on his side and frowned. “Are you going to?”

“The second I’m sure you’re 100% fine, yes.”

“Or you could just—“

“Nope,” Happy interrupted. “No lying to May when it comes to you. That’s _her_ rule, long before her and I got together.”

Peter just groaned and slumped in his seat. “She’s just gonna freak out.”

“As she should. You got stabbed.”

“Mildly,” Peter pointed out, moving his arm so Happy couldn’t glare accusingly at the large amount of blood. “And like I said, this wasn’t a Spider-Man thing.”

“You and Spider-Man are the same person, kid. Something happens to you, in or out of the suit, she deserves to hear about it.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, wincing as Happy sped over a speed bump.

“How’d you get mugged anyway?” Happy asked.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy snuck up on me. One second, I’m looking at my phone, trying to see how much money I have in my account and the next, some guy’s pushing me into the alley and my side’s on fire.”

Happy’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and he did this weird little neck wiggle, like he was trying to force himself to calm down. Peter couldn’t tell if the man was mad at the mugger or at Peter.

“What are you even doing in Manhattan?”

“Shopping.”

“You can’t do that in Queens?”

Peter was about to explain that yes, he could go shopping in Queens, but seeing how it was May’s birthday, he wanted to get her something nice, hence the fieldtrip to Manhattan, but something stopped him.

It might have been Peter veering into asshole territory again, wanting to see what would happen if Happy missed May’s birthday, but if anyone were to ask, Peter would tell them he was distracted by the site of Tony Stark standing in a well-lit parking garage next to an empty parking space.

Happy had barely pulled in before Tony was pulling open Peter’s door. Peter was about to tell Tony that he was fine, but Tony skipped over him altogether. He leaned down, looked at Happy and asked, “So, is he dying?”

“Nah,” Happy said. He lifted Peter’s shirt and squinted. “Looks more like a slice than an actual stab.”

“So you technically didn’t have to come,” Peter announced, pushing his way out of the car. “It’s just—”

“You’re in my neck of the woods now, kiddo.” Tony interrupted. He stood back and frowned at the amount of blood. “I was literally in the neighborhood. Besides, May has this rule. You get hurt, we help.”

“That’s with Spider-Man stuff,” Peter pointed out.

Tony arched an eyebrow then looked to Happy, “Is he being serious right now?”

“I’m gonna chock it up to blood loss,” Happy declared. He locked the car and gestured for them to follow him. “He seems to be under the impression that we wouldn’t care if he got stabbed outside of the suit.”

“Sliced,” Peter corrected.

Tony arched his brow again, but other than a reminder to “put pressure on it”, they remained quiet as they rode the elevator up the nineteen floors to Happy’s apartment.

It was clean and modern and furnished in expensive looking furniture that looked like something Pepper would have picked out.

It was also big. Not penthouse big, but definitely way bigger than Peter and May’s apartment back in Queens.

It even had an actual dining room, like, all by itself.

“This is your place?”

“Yes.”

“It’s…”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…a lot nicer than I thought it’d be.”

“Never let it be said that Tony Stark doesn’t pay his employees,” Tony said. He kicked the door shut and forced Peter to sit on the coffee table while Happy disappeared into what Peter assumed was the bathroom. “But if we’re being real here, he can probably only afford this place because of all the hazard pay.”

“Makes sense.”

“Your turn,” Tony announced, kneeling down and peeling back the bloodied shirt. “Now I know you got stabbed, sliced whatever, but how? We have a rule. No stupid shit outside the suit.”

Peter was getting tired of everybody’s rules. “You also have a rule about no stupid shit inside the suit.”

“This is true. Now, I need you to explain why you’re bleeding all over Happy’s nice floor.”

“This was actually not my fault,” Peter said, sounding a little too proud for someone with a literal hole in his side.

Tony was unimpressed. He also didn’t believe him. He gave Peter a look that said as much and then turned to the open bathroom door. “Hey Hap, buddy? What did the squirt do?”

“He got mugged,” Happy explained, emerging from the bedroom with a first-aid kit that matched the one Tony had given May. “So, if he’s at fault for anything, I suppose it’s not defending himself.”

Peter frowned. “This is total victim blaming.”

“Shut up and lay down,” Tony ordered. His words might have been kind of harsh, but his movements were definitely gentle as he helped guide Peter into a more horizontal position. “Arm up over your head, you know the drill.”

Peter sighed, tried not to wince as they cleaned the wound, and decided to distract himself by giving the apartment another look around.

There was a pretty decent sized TV on one wall with a shelf stuffed full of movies below. Most of the titles looked like old action movies from like thirty years ago, but there was definitely a _Downton Abbey _case sitting on top of the Blu-ray player.

There was a wall full of pictures of a younger Happy in a boxing ring glaring at the camera, framed cutouts of newspaper articles, and a few candid shots of Happy with a younger, cockier looking Tony.

Peter made the mistake of looking at Happy only to see him pulling on a pair of gloves while Tony handed him a sterile wrapped suture kit, complete with that all too familiar, fear inducing curved needle of death.

And since he was about to be repeatedly poked with said needle, he could describe it however he wanted.

Peter braced himself and looked away, his eyes falling on the modern kitchen and its too clean counters. There were pots and pans hanging from a rack above the island and a pretty impressive array of spice jars arranged near the stove, but the kitchen looked way too sterile to be routinely used.

Then again, Happy had been really intense about his lumpy macaroni, so maybe the man could cook.

Peter felt a hand on his side and then a sharp pinch followed by a tug. He groaned, bit his lip, and turned his eyes back to the kitchen. This time to the fridge. Specifically the small collection of pictures that were stuck to the front.

There were a few of Tony and Pepper, a handful of Happy and May, complete with one of those little strips of photos you get from those booths with the little curtains.

But what really caught Peter’s eye was the picture of Peter and Tony. It was an old one taken in that weird period of time just after the Vulture where they were still learning how to act around one another, but it was one of Peter’s favorites.

It was Tony, hair messy and face streaked in grease sipping out of a coffee cup as he side-eyed the camera, arm extended while he placed a pair of bunny ears over an unsuspecting Peter.

Happy had taken the picture and Peter had had to beg the man to send it to him.

Below that was one of Happy and Peter. Peter could literally count on one hand the number of pictures he’d taken with Happy and still have a few fingers left over.

This was the first one and was taken in Germany back before everything went to hell in a hand basket, back before Happy caught onto the fact that a naïve Peter was an annoying Peter. He might have already known even then, but Peter liked to think it wasn’t irritation at first sight.

Peter was grinning ear to ear, his arms extended high above him as he tried to fit as much of his surroundings into the picture as he could. Happy was there, looking the way Happy always did in photos.

Mostly.

There was just the barest hint of a smile. And yeah, it was probably because he was laughing at how big of a dork Peter was, but still. Peter remembered having sent Happy the picture, along with a slew of others and about a thousand and one text messages.

He had just assumed that Happy had deleted them all.

“You have pictures of me on your fridge.”

There was another pinch, a pull, and then, “Yeah. So?”

Tony spun around, looking towards the fridge with wide eyes. Apparently, Peter wasn’t the only one surprised by this.

“Just observing.” Peter pressed his lips together and dropped his head onto the coffee table. “Did May put them there?”

Another pause. “I put them there.”

“Okay.”

Another pinch and pull, then a tentatively asked, “Do you want me to take them down?”

“No,” Peter hurried to say. “I just—I just didn’t expect it. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well…,” Happy trailed off with a shrug as Tony cut the thread. Then it was quiet, at least for a few minutes. Long enough for Happy to slap a bandage on Peter’s side and for Tony to disappear into the suspiciously clean kitchen to wash his hands.

Peter pushed himself up into a seated position while Happy meticulously cleaned up the mess, including wiping up the little specks of blood that had dropped onto the floor and stained the once nice rug.

Peter took a deep breath, let it out on a heavy sigh, and said, “May’s birthday is Tuesday.”

Happy looked up from the wad of gauze in his hand and frowned. “This Tuesday?”

Peter nodded, shifted and winced when it pulled at his new stitches. “Yeah, that’s why I was shopping in Manhattan.”

Happy was still frowning, but it didn’t look like it had anything to do with Peter. “D’you get her something already?”

“No.” Peter pointed at his ruined shirt. “Got interrupted. D’You get her anything?”

Happy tilted his head and shrugged, his eyes going back to the bandages in his hand. “No.” He rubbed the toe of his shoe against one of the blood stains on his carpet. “Didn’t know about it, honestly.”

Peter mirrored Happy, one shoulder rising in a half-hearted shrug as he ground the toe of his converse sneaker into one of the drops of blood, smearing it and making the whole thing worse. “Well, I can help you find something,” he suggested. “If you want.”

“Yeah, I mean—” Happy shrugged again, but he looked up, offering a small patient smile. “I got a car, and you probably should take it easy until that wound closes.”

“You two are adorable.” Both Happy and Peter turned to look at Tony. He was in the kitchen propped up against the island with a hand over his heart. “Seriously,” he continued, tone bland and every bit the smart ass Pepper and Rhodey accused him of being.

Happy stood up and angrily tossed the bloodied trash in the bin and glared at Tony. “Shut up.”

Tony just smiled.

Then he clapped his hands, pushed off of the island, and pointed his fingers back and forth between Happy and Peter. “So…shopping? Is that what we’re doing now?”

Peter frowned. “I uh--I don’t have a wallet…anymore.”

It was Tony’s turn to frown now. He glared, lips pursed to the side as one eye squinted in consideration. Then he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, tossed Happy his keys, and began marching to the door. “Okay, detour,” he declared. “We get the kid his shit back, then we go shopping.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. tracked Peter’s stolen phone, then Peter and Happy waited in the car while Iron Man put the fear of god into an unsuspecting thief.

It didn’t take long before Tony was walking back to the car, his repulsor gauntlet still active and a cockeyed smirk firmly in place. He climbed in the passenger seat and tossed Peter his phone, wallet, and a black t-shirt.

Peter lifted the shirt and frowned. “What’s this?”

“It’s your bad guy’s shirt,” Tony said, that smirk growing into a full smile. “Just think of it as payment to replace that horror show you’re still wearing.”

Peter looked down and figured Tony was right. The blood might have begun to dry a rusty brown, but he couldn’t exactly walk into Macy’s looking like an extra in _The Walking Dead._

Peter pulled off his ruined shirt and pulled on the new one. It was too big and smelled of cigarettes, but it would do. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

Tony turned to face the back seat and frowned. “Would it bother you if I did?”

Happy didn’t say anything, but he gave Peter a quick glance in the rearview mirror before merging into traffic.

Peter kicked the ruined shirt under Happy’s seat, readjusted his seatbelt, and shrugged.

Tony rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Don’t worry, kid. I left him just as I found him.” He tilted his head and grinned again. “Except for the shirt…and his pants.”

Happy looked away from the road long enough to offer Tony a concerned glare. “You took the guy’s pants?”

“Nope,” Tony said, smile turning cocky again. “The second he realized who I was he pissed himself.”

Peter laughed, realized it wasn’t the best thing to do with a minor stab wound, and made a mental note not to do it again.

May didn’t laugh though. Neither did Pepper.

Natasha smirked a little, which according to Tony was more than they could ask for.

Time moved a little slower after that. Not for any other reason than Peter was officially sidelined until his side healed up and there was only so much a guy could do cooped up in a tiny apartment while the rest of the world got to do things more exciting than catch up on homework.

But then Monday rolled around and then Tuesday and Peter woke up, gave his aunt a hug and a kiss and a new recipe book he’d found at Barnes & Noble.

“Oh wow! I’ve been meaning to get a new one,” she said, flipping through the pages. “And look, it even has a note section on each one so you can write in any changes you want.”

“Or you could just follow the recipe on the page,” Peter suggested. “You know, like they intended.”

May just wrinkled her nose and grinned. “But where’s the fun in that?”

She gave his forehead another kiss and squeezed his chin before bustling away to get ready for the day. Peter did the same. He was halfway through brushing his teeth when May leaned into the open bathroom door and said, “By the way, I’m going out with Happy tonight, so you can do whatever you want for dinner.”

Peter looked up and frowned, completely ignoring the dribble of toothpaste that was slowly making its way down his chin. “You’re going out?”

“Well yeah,” she said, smiling. “It _is_ my birthday. Happy’s taking me somewhere nice. Stark got us reservations.”

“That’s great.”

“Right? When you see Tony, make sure you tell him I said thank you, but don’t let on how excited I am okay? I don’t want it going to his head.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s already gone to his head,” Peter pointed out, forcing a smile. “He wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

May rolled her eyes. “True.” She grabbed the hairbrush off the counter and was just about to leave when she turned back around. “Are you okay?”

Peter spit into the sink and focused on rinsing out his mouth. “Yeah, why?”

“I just—you’ll be okay tonight on your own?”

Peter looked up from the running water and smiled. “I’m pretty sure I can order a pizza without supervision.”

May narrowed her eyes and pointed the brush at Peter. “You should invite over Ned and MJ,” she decided, bobbing her head. “Yeah, call them. You can all have a movie night. No adult supervision. Go wild.”

Peter did invite them over but there was totally adult supervision, but only because Tony invited them all to the tower and Ned wouldn’t allow Peter to say no. Technically, Tony invited Peter, but when Peter said he had company over, Tony begrudgingly invited them as well.

One self-driving car ride later, the three of them were spread out around Tony’s kitchen, snacking on pizza bagels and waiting for the delivery guy to arrive with their dumplings and shrimp fried rice. Which was fun, up until the point that May texted letting Peter know she might not be coming home and he shouldn’t wait up.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Peter said. He was sitting on the counter, legs swinging as he balanced a microwaved-hot plate in his hands.

“Yeah, but this is the first time you guys didn’t celebrate one of your birthdays together, right?” Ned asked, reaching over and snagging one of the still smoking bagels.

“Yeah, but it’s also the first time she’s had, like an actual boyfriend since Ben, so…” Peter stuffed an entire mini-bagel in his mouth and shrugged.

MJ leaned against the counter and gave Peter a look that somehow managed to be equal parts unimpressed and understanding at the same time. “You knew this was bound to happen eventually.”

“I know,” Peter mumbled around a mouthful of pizza bagel.

“And if you really think about it, you shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “After all, you’re the one who told her she couldn’t do it at home.”

“Because you made me!” Peter pointed out.

MJ’s stare lost that sympathetic glint. It was now completely unimpressed. “That is so not what happened.”

“What’s happening?”

Peter, Ned, and MJ all turned to find Clint and Sam walking into the kitchen, their faces expectant while Sam raided the fridge and Clint stole one of Peter and Ned’s pizza bagels.

“Happy took May out for her birthday,” Ned explained, failing to hide his excitement at being near an Avenger that wasn’t Tony.

Sam made an amused face and continued to snoop through the fridge. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

“And now she’s decided to spend the night,” MJ added.

“Nice,” Clint hummed. He jumped up on the counter beside Peter and reached for another bagel. “Birthday sex.”

Peter glared and moved the plate out of Clint’s reach. “Not sweet.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s kind of like your mom, right?” Clint asked. “So what? You hate Happy now? Is that what’s happening?”

“I don’t hate Happy.”

MJ gave him another glare, this one not at all sympathetic. “Then prove it.”

The only problem was, Peter didn’t know how to. Because soon, it wasn’t just her birthday. Pretty much anytime Happy had a day off from Stark Industries, he was with May. Or more accurately, May was with Happy.

“Can you blame her?” Natasha asked one day. She had Peter pinned face first to the mat, his arm twisted up around his back. “Every time he’s around, you turn into a teenage asshole. She finally got tired of it and decided the best way to keep you happy was to keep her relationship out of sight.”

Peter frowned, which was hard to do with his cheek pushed up against the floor. “I’ve been working on the asshole thing,” he pointed out. He tried to twist out of her grip, but she just pulled his wrist higher and pressed her knee into his back. “I made sure he knew it was her birthday.”

“Only after he saved your ass.”

“I didn’t need saving.”

“Then why did you call him?”

The conversation ended there, but only because Peter finally found the leverage he needed to flip her off of him.

Steve and Bucky were useless. At least when it came to advice.

But that was only because the two couldn’t seem to agree on anything and had a hard time staying on topic.

“I think you should ask her out,” Steve said knowingly, even though Peter hadn’t asked.

Bucky grabbed the coffee pot and brought it with him to the table. “Who’s he asking out?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Nobody.”

“Michelle,” Steve said, acting like Peter hadn’t spoken. He was leaned back in one seat, feet propped on another with a sketchbook balanced on his knee. “He still hasn’t asked her out.”

Bucky filled his cup with coffee, set the carafe on the table, and took a tentative sip out of the steaming cup. “She the scary one?”

Peter arched a brow and glared. “Are you in any position to call someone else scary?”

Bucky just shrugged and bounced his eyebrows. “Takes one to know one. But go for it, ask her out.”

“We’re not talking about that right now.”

“Sounds like we are.”

“No, we’re—no. This is about May, okay. May and Happy and the fact that everyone keeps telling me I’m being an asshole because…” Peter trailed off. He didn’t really know where to go from there.

Bucky took a sip of his coffee, frowned when it burned, and took another sip. “Maybe if you stopped being an asshole, people would stop saying it.”

“I’m not an asshole.”

Bucky looked up from his coffee with a furrowed brow and a tilted head. “Takes one to know one, remember? You’re an asshole. A tiny one, but still…”

Peter sighed and looked to Steve for help, but Steve didn’t seem to disagree. “Have you thought about why you’re so unhappy? I mean, is it really so bad that they’re dating?”

“No,” Peter said. He grabbed the pepper shaker off the table and started playing with it, not caring when little flecks of black and grey began to sprinkle onto the clean tabletop. “I like Happy. I’m just…I’m not doing too well with the whole liking Happy while he’s with my aunt thing.”

Bucky nodded knowingly, like he understood. “Then fake it.”

“Fake it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Lie.”

Steve pointed a pencil at Peter and a glare at Bucky and said, “Do not lie.”

Bucky just shook his head and took another sip of his scalding coffee. “Nope, the kid should lie. They’re gonna date whether he wants ‘em to or not. Best thing to do is just go with it. Getting pissed will only make a bad situation worse.”

“Or he could tell the truth,” Steve offered. “Sit down and sort out their issues.”

Peter arched an eyebrow and asked, “Like you and Mr. Stark?”

Bucky tried to hide his laugh behind his coffee cup, but Peter saw it anyway.

So did Steve. “We’re working on it,” he said, frowning at Bucky before turning sincere eyes to Peter. “But in all seriousness, it wouldn’t hurt to talk with the man. Have a heart to heart.”

And that was good advice. Way better than Bucky’s, if for no other reason than Peter had already tried Bucky’s way.

And it didn’t work.

So that left Cap’s. Peter was going to have a serious conversation with Happy. A real heart to heart.

Which was great. Except Peter was willing to bet his suit that Steve hadn’t thought it would happen in the middle of a mission.

To be fair, it wasn’t Peter’s fault. He in no way was ready to have the conversation. At least, not at that moment. No, what he wanted was to suit up and get on the fucking jet before the other Avengers left without him.

Happy, on the other hand, had other plans. And yeah, it might have had something to do with the fact that Peter had been hurt the week before and was only _just_ back in fighting form.

Sort of.

But it didn’t matter. The Avengers said they needed him. Well, they said that he could go, same thing.

And Peter was gonna go. Period. No matter what Happy had to say on the matter.

Peter was already in his suit, mask in hand as he tried to keep up with the Captain’s long stride. They were halfway to the jet when Happy caught up, a hand on Peter’s elbow holding him back.

“Are you sure you should—”

“Yes,” Peter answered, not giving Happy a chance to finish. “I’m going.” He pulled his arm out of Happy’s grasp and kept walking.

So did Happy. “Does May know about this?”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t you think she should?”

Peter stopped walking and glared at the man. “Are you gonna tell on me if I don’t call her and ask permission?”

Steve had stopped walking and was watching them warily. But he staid quiet.

Happy’s frown morphed from one of worry to one of irritation. That one Peter was familiar with.

“I’m not gonna tattle because I’m not a child,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I do think you should let her know when you’re about to go on a mission.”

“Look, as long as I don’t leave the country or the planet, she’s cool with it,” Peter assured him, turning back to the plane and gesturing for Steve to lead the way. “I don’t need her permission.”

“Damn it, Parker,” Happy growled. “That’s not what this is about!”

“I’ll call her on the way, okay?” Peter promised. They had reached the landing bay and Steve was laying out the plan. Peter didn’t want to miss it. “Just stop worrying about it.”

Peter could literally hear Happy’s teeth grind as he stood there seething. Peter gave an apologetic shrug and was half-way to turning away when Happy grabbed his arm again and pulled him back, away from the group of heroes.

“This isn’t about asking for permission,” Happy explained, nearly hissing as he tried to keep his voice low. “This isn’t about you asking for her blessing so you can go play superhero. This is about keeping her in the loop so she doesn’t worry about you.”

“She’ll worry no matter what. Just think of it like this, ignorance is bliss, right?” Peter asked. “This way she’ll spend less time worrying.”

“Until something goes bad,” Happy added. “And I can tell you from experience, we don’t like being blindsided.”

Peter frowned. “There’s no ‘we’ in this situation.”

Happy frowned back. “I hate to break it to you, Parker. But it’s been a ‘we’ for a while. May and I are a ‘we’. You and I are a ‘we’. And the three of us, one big fucking ‘we’, whether you like it or not.”

Peter didn’t really know how to respond to that, at least not in a way he wouldn’t immediately regret. He could still hear the other’s talking in the background. He gave Happy another glare and then turned away.

Happy growled again and stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Just talk to me, Peter.”

“Happy, I don’t have time right now.”

“Make time,” Happy ordered. He crossed his arms across his chest and asked, “So what’s the deal? Are you mad that May’s dating again, or are you just pissed because she’s dating me?”

“What? Why would—no, it’s not—,” Peter paused, took a deep breath and said, “Everything’s fine, Happy.”

But Happy wasn’t an idiot. “No, you’re just pretending it’s fine,” he said loudly.

“Whatever.” Peter rolled his eyes and tried to walk around Happy, pulling his mask on as he did so.

But Happy was way faster than Peter remembered because he reached out, grabbed the top of Peter’s head, and pulled the mask away.

“What the hell?” Peter hissed.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Give it back.”

“Talk to me and I will.”

It was then that Peter realized that the others had stopped talking. Happy realized it too when Captain America himself called out and asked in a stern voice, “Can we focus, please?”

“Do you mind?” Happy called back, gesturing to himself and Peter. “We’re having a moment.”

“I don’t want to have a moment,” Peter said.

“Too bad, we’re having a freaking moment,” Happy hissed. He then turned back to Steve and said, “We’re having a moment. Just start the jet, he’ll be there.”

There were some disapproving glares cast their way, but pretty soon the only people not on the jet were Happy and Peter.

Peter was not okay with that.

Happy didn’t care.

“Do you hate me?” he asked, catching Peter off guard.

“What?”

“Do you hate me?” Happy asked again. “Is that why you’re angry I’m dating your aunt?”

“No, I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you so—“

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re her kid, and she fucking cares what you think!”

Peter shook his head and looked away. He licked his lips and started playing with the trigger on his webshooter. “She’s not—she’s not really my aunt,” he mumbled. It was barely louder than a whisper and his voice cracked a little at the end. “Not by blood.”

Happy just narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Peter, she loves—"

“I know,” he assured him, eyes still on his wrist. “I know, trust me. She’s raised me, she’s…I know she loves me. She tells me every day. Twice, at least. But our family isn’t traditional, you know?” He looked up from his webshooter, saw the way Happy was staring at him, and quickly looked away. But Happy had wanted him to talk, and Peter was talking now, and it didn’t feel like he could stop. The words just started to tumble out, fast and worried and not at all what Peter was ready to admit out loud. “She married Ben, and he was my uncle, he was…he was family, he was blood and when he died, May and I were all each other had left and we only knew one another because of Ben, and if she moves on, then…”

“Stop,” Happy ordered. It was short and snappish and almost angry sounding. Almost. He reached out, Peter’s mask still clasped in his hand, and pulled Peter into a hug. A tight one. “Just…Peter Parker, that is the dumbest thing you have ever said.”

“Happy—“ Peter tried to push Happy away, but the man just squeezed tighter.

“Nope, still having a moment.”

Peter gave up, buried his face in Happy’s shoulder, and wondered how long it would take to suffocate. Probably too long.

Happy just let his chin rest atop Peter’s head. “That woman loves you more than anything else on this planet. I can promise you, her love for you is not dependent on her love for Ben Parker.”

Peter didn’t answer. Not because he was being a stubborn asshole. It was just his eyes had started to burn and his nose felt like it was running, and he really really didn’t want to be having this moment.

He hugged Happy back anyway.

Happy gave Peter’s back a reassuring pat, released him from the impromptu hug, and handed him back his mask. “You good?”

Peter sniffed then nodded.

Happy smiled, then frowned again. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I really will call May when I get on the plane.”

Happy nodded. “Good,” he said, before straightening his jacket and gesturing towards the jet. “Now come on, I don’t want to get yelled at by Captain America again.”

Peter smiled. “Dude, you yelled back.”

“I know,” Happy said, wincing at the memory. He cringed and asked, “It was badass though, right?”

“Totally badass,” Peter assured him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Hap?”

“Yeah?”

“You hurt her, I will physically break you.”

Happy froze for a brief moment, then reluctantly nodded. “Noted.”

Peter gave him a parting wave and practically ran up the loading ramp.

The others were already there, securing their gear. Steve looked up, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “We good?”

Peter just smiled. “Yeah, we’re good.”

So, Happy was wiggling his way into the Parker family, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

It was still weird though.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few things to note:
> 
> 1) this took forever because I work two jobs and am in grad school.
> 
> 2) take this as a warning if you give me a prompt and ask for a story, it might not be exactly what you were looking for. Also, I apparently do not know how to write short stories. I'm working on it. I'm just glad this didn't get up to the triple digit page numbers.
> 
> 4) I will continue to write Peter Parker in the MCU. No matter what happens. forever. I literally watched myself go through the 5 stages of grief after hearing about the MCU/Sony divorce. I'm not happy about it, and I would appreciate it if no one reminded me about it.
> 
> 5) I am so sleepy. Like, all the time. It's a thing.
> 
> 6) I don't know any of you but I just want you to know that I love you. That might be the lack of sleep talking, but just roll with it, okay? 
> 
> 7) And as stated at the beginning, this is not connected to my Little Things AU. Those aren't really connected, but they kind of are? This one isn't at all.


End file.
